Seven
by ajc-az.jmd3
Summary: Crowley Tempts Aziraphale into committing the Seven Deadly Sins. Abandoned.
1. Prologue, Introduction

Disclaimer: the characters aren't mine. Disclaimer applies to all chapters.

There are seven of them. Crowley's always wondered if it was for that whole balance thing. Seven archangels, seven sins. He isn't stupid enough to ask. He does ask about the sins themselves, though. They're awfully fun…


	2. Gluttony

1. Gluttony

Crowley finds Gluttony the easiest sin to Tempt humans into committing. It's mostly his fault stuff tastes good. All that "synthetic" flavouring that he gave mankind the idea of. It's delicious.

Crowley's favourite part, though, isn't that he invented synthetic flavourings, or that he's the reason so many humans are Tempted into committing Gluttony. No, Crowley's favourite part is that Aziraphale loves candy bars.

Crowley buys him all sorts, "just to be nice." He knows Aziraphale falls for it. Aziraphale always does. And he eats all of them. And he eats the chocolate cake Crowley brings, and the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. And he eats the crumpets, and once Aziraphale even let Crowley cook him breakfast. Crowley made pancakes and French toast and eggs and bacon and oat meal and cereal, and Aziraphale ate it all.

Sometimes, Crowley very much loves his job.


	3. Sloth

2. Sloth

Aziraphale has only slept once or twice in his entire existence. He's told Crowley before – not that Crowley listened – that he didn't see the point of doing something unnecessary to his continued survival. Crowley knows he's lying – after all he eats and drinks, doesn't he?

Crowley's current goal is to Tempt Aziraphale to commit Sloth. It's not really Tempting in this case, more like Tricking, or Exhausting to the Point of Collapse. But Crowley knows he can do it. He always can.

He doesn't remember what they did – he's too tired himself – but he knows it was genius. It always is. Aziraphale is having trouble keeping his eyes open, and Crowley can tell, even though his eyes are closed more often than not right now.

They fall together into Crowley's bed, too tired to care about much of anything. They keep their shoes on. Crowley's suit gets wrinkled. His glasses dig into his nose, and he doesn't care. They fall asleep quickly.

They've slept for God Only Knows How Long, and they are snuggled up against each other. Crowley would be mortified by that fact, but he feels too lazy to summon up the proper energy to look scandalized.

Aziraphale mumbles something unintelligible in his half-sleep, and Crowley smirks wickedly at him. Apparently, smirking wickedly takes less energy than looking scandalized. It feels much more natural, anyway. They lay together the rest of the day in the fluffy white downy comforter, and the fluffy white downy pillows.

Crowley really enjoys his job, especially when Aziraphale looks at him through sleepy eyes and mumbles something about French toast and eggs.


	4. Pride

3. Pride

Crowley purposely lets Aziraphale "find" rare and amazing books in old gutters or something. He lets Aziraphale think he's the one who cleaned them up, by hand – the human way – when really, Crowley – after he goes back to his flat, of course – miracles them the way Aziraphale finds them the next morning. Crowley sometimes wonders why Aziraphale never notices. To him, it is blatantly obvious. Maybe that's just because he's the one behind it.

Anyway, Crowley knows Aziraphale is very proud of his books. He knows from the way Aziraphale's chest puffs out sometimes, when he looks at his perfectly pristine shelves, and Crowley's even been privy to Aziraphale bragging, once or twice.

Sometimes Crowley wonders, though. Is Aziraphale's pride really the Sin pride? He knows it's holy; it must be, the way it glows like that. It makes Crowley feel like he's glowing, too, sometimes. He likes it when Aziraphale brags, and not just because Aziraphale, the angel, is sinning. He doesn't think about it much though. He isn't one for analyzing feelings, he just does stuff.

Stuff, usually, involves getting Aziraphale new books, in a round-about snake-like way. It's what Crowley does.


	5. Wrath

4. Wrath

Crowley wonders if this one counts, too, sometimes. After all, it's Godly Wrath, anyway, isn't it? Well, sometimes it's just Aziraphale-ly Wrath, but that's nearly just as good, in Crowley's opinion. He knows Aziraphale is not an archangel – a fact for which he is very grateful, which says a lot as he makes it a point not to be grateful for much – but when Aziraphale is angry, he rocks the Earth.

Crowley "accidentally" burns a book every now and then, just to see what will happen. He knows it's probably bad for his health, but then, so are several other things that he does anyway, just for the Hell of it. Literally, usually, but that's not the Point. The Point is, Crowley really loves it when Aziraphale is seriously pissed at him.

Crowley thinks, probably, that he'd enjoy Aziraphale's Wrath even more if it were directed toward someone else for a change. So, once, he blames the "accidental" book-burning on Adam. He knows it's a dirty rotten trick – framing a child. But Adam's the antichrist, after all, what harm could it really do? And besides he doesn't really count.

He watches as Aziraphale swells with anger, and his usually unnoticeable holy glow intensifies. It hurts Crowley's eyes, but he can't look away. He hates to admit it, mostly because he thinks it means he has a weakness, but Aziraphale is quite the attractive angel. Especially when he's like this. Crowley lies to himself and thinks forcefully that Aziraphale's innocent beauty is not intimidating.

Adam looks intimidated too, but only for a second, and for a second more, Crowley is afraid that he's gone and started a fight between them. He knows for a fact that Adam could easily destroy Aziraphale – permanently, and (though he hates to admit this too) that's the absolute last thing he wants to happen.

And a second after that, Crowley makes sure that he hasn't started a fight between Adam and Aziraphale, by jumping between the two Earth-moving forces and shouting that he did it, and that he's sorry, and that he'll find a way to get Aziraphale a near-identical copy of the book, whatever the cost.

He doesn't mean to say any of it.


	6. Envy

5. Envy

Crowley knows everything that Aziraphale has never done. He knows because he makes it his prerogative to slowly but surely diminish the list. It's a twenty-four hour job. Aziraphale, being an angel, is very hard to Tempt.

But it's Crowley's job, and he takes pride in being very good at it. He does his homework, and he gets straight A's. He always has.

Aziraphale has never had sex. He's never even looked at a woman – or a man, especially not a man – in any special way that might suggest he wanted to. Aziraphale has never gone to a real actual bar. He's never danced anything but the gavotte – he's never even tried. Aziraphale has never gotten anything on a book, as he considers the damaging of such a thing a crime worthy of Falling. Aziraphale has never eaten an apple, ever. And Aziraphale has never admitted to anyone – not even himself – how much he hates that he hasn't done any of these things. But Crowley can tell. He always can. It's his job.

He comes for a visit one day, with a book and a chocolate cake, like always. But he has an apple, too, and the book is a manual on homosexual intercourse positions and their various pros and cons. Crowley almost can't hold in his laugh at the look on Aziraphale's face when he reads the title. At least he can be sure that there will be no hovering or reading over his shoulder when he sits down and commences skimming the pages.

Crowley sprawls out on Aziraphale's smooshy little brown loveseat. He opens his book and pretends to read it, putting his apple to his lips, miracling it extra-juicy before biting into it. Crowley can't help but observe that the illustration of a young man's arse that the drop of apple juice drips on is nearly as juicy and delicious as the apple itself. That's saying something, too. Apples have always been Crowley's favourite fruit.

He can feel it radiating off of Aziraphale already. It's in his glare, and in his unneeded heartbeat. It's Envy – Envy that Crowley can do these things with no attack of conscience – and it nearly makes Crowley drool like a basset hound. He covers it with another bite of his apple. He senses Aziraphale squirm.

Crowley knows Aziraphale won't take the apple, or the book, or make Crowley leave, but that's exactly the Point. The Point is to make Aziraphale want it – want it, but not take it. When Aziraphale's foot starts tapping and the apple is nearly finished, Crowley knows his Point is made, and he smirks his Spawn-of-the-Devil smirk at Aziraphale and leaves.

He "forgets" his book, just for good measure.


End file.
